The whole thing it is the difficult
matter: to shrink the confines
down. To signals, so that I come
back to this, we are
small / in the rain,
open or without it
the light in de-
light, as with pleasure amongst not merely
the word, one amongst them; but the
skin over the points, of the bone.
That's where we have it & should
diminish: I am no
more, than custom,
which is the vital
& signal, again, as if we tie into
so many voices. Wish for them:
elect the principal, we must take
aim. That now is the life, which
is diffused, out of
how we are too
surrounded, unhopeful
The politics, therefore, is for one man,
a question of skin, that he ask
of his national point no more, in
this instance, than brevity. The
rest follows: so long regardful
of the rule, the decision
as knowledge and
above all, trust.
All too easy it seems with this slip
into trust if it weren't that silver
is another brightness, & we know it.
I must stand off from the warm
decay, invoke
some Danish insistence,
it doesn't concern any
of us, the risk
of exception
but we must each have, more
than, the place defined by what
we owe (in the weak sense,
what we too warmly
desire.
Only watch the weather
as the sky does change,
or the seasons in
quick-slip succession,
see it, as
walking is a white charge
in the bones we look at, constantly. Or
inconstantly, without even a shred of desire
like maps at our feet. We want
too much for the others.
We must shrink / we
are small within it,
our pains are too earnest.
And the plain is wide: we are so
far, we should conserve
by election, which means at least
being less than so apt & so reasonable.
Able with reason, the light
isn't there, but down, in the
mines, for silver.
That’s where the state is, where we should
recognize the renewed fact: William Smith
or suchlike could be the founder
if we needed that. Which I suspect myself
isn’t so, as we have no
need of the star uppermost
in anyone’s mind.
We are alive, the esteem already is
there in potential. It is
a firm question, of election,
the elect angels. Signs or array,
we should take this, we should
really do so. There is no other
beginning on power
Such is to elect terms,
to be the ground for names.
We should come to the other thing, the in-
fluence of terminal systems, from there.
In the air, but first,
before that other thing
in the air.
One is each: and in
succession/or by elect
thus, there will be the
new wandering
star, in
the heavens, the
state of our own
coherence. These are the ligatures to
revise governance,
of the local disposing, the
quality as firstly position.
Here is the elect, the
folds of our intimate surface.
They call it peace
or history. Give it
nothing; to them
it is the elect,
the principal,
the voice.
